


For The Love of Another

by Capt_Jack_Whatever



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Adam gets love and support???, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Boys In Love, Child Death, Corpses, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Dynamics, First Crush, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, France (Country), Gay Male Character, Gothic, Graphic Description of Corpses, Height Differences, Hurt/Comfort, I played too much stardew Valley, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Frankenstein, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Mystery, One Big Happy Family, Original Character Death(s), Requited Love, Romance, Size Difference, Slow Build, Slow Burn, at least I can go outside, brief graphic descriptions of violence, dear god i want to be a farmer, mary shelly I hope i make you proud
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24151492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capt_Jack_Whatever/pseuds/Capt_Jack_Whatever
Summary: In the wake of his youngest sister's disappearance, Jasper Gagne must keep Wildwood farm afloat. No easy task for one man and his sister to carry out, until a stranger discovered on their property changes everything. A stranger Jasper's father swears he has seen before.
Relationships: Frankenstein's Creature/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	1. The Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> please read the tags!! also thank you so much for my sister for editing this!! it took a lot of courage for me to post this, but I hope you enjoy it!

It was not quite spring when the disappearance of little Irene Gagne struck the quiet town of Droomsberry. The girl was not yet 10 years old, and the quiet little town seemed to crackle with a hushed enthusiasm it had not seen in years. Idle chatter about fish or vegetable quality was replaced with hushed fervent dialogues, dramatized by solemn head shaking, harsh clicking of tongue, and the occasional indignant huff or gasp of “oh my!” The story changed wildly from the simple announcement that Sheriff Bernard gave, into an extensive scheme into the lost girl’s family.

One man in particular, Monsieur Legrand, the local goat farmer, cared deeply for the loss of the Gagnes’ youngest, and talked nothing short of pity and compassion towards the whole affair, and seemed to offer his sincerest sympathies to anyone who would listen. 

“Poor things,” he would say if anyone ever asked him. “With their mother dead just last spring, and their poor father going blind, it’ll be a miracle if they keep the farm until next winter.” 

If anyone asked Legrand if he should help them keep it, he would simply scratch his bearded chin and sigh. 

“My hands aren’t cut out for that kind of work,” he would remark casually, before his black eyes shimmered. “But I would gladly buy that farm from them, goodness knows they’ll need the money.” 

At this the listener would sigh with vicarious relief, and remark somehow upon his unyielding kindness towards the poor family. Then Legrand would lean in close, and with a hushed voice recount his growing concern. 

“That boy of theirs, though,” he would say, “he may not accept my offer.” There would be a soft chuckle. “Just like his father, stubborn and determined as an ox.” 

“Well just give them time,” the listener would say hopefully. “There’s still a chance they may find her.” 

Mr Legrand would then nod slowly, seeming to ponder the response before leaning back in his chair. 

“I hope so,” he would say before taking out his pipe. “But still, I fear that the evil in those woods may have overtaken her before God could intervene.” 

For the first two days the town busied itself in this way, and on the eve of the third people could swear they heard a loud wail come from the woods.


	2. The Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all like the Sheriff, I enjoyed writing him :)

Dawn came chilly upon the damp grass, and Droomsberry rose restlessly with it. Whispers of a body being found began to fester in quiet bedchambers and living rooms as the search party returned from the forest. The whole town seemed to hold its breath, so entangled it was in these affairs, it almost seemed as though the Wildwood farmhouse itself stood in the center of town instead of Droomsberry Square.  
When the sun had risen fully above the horizon, and the last of the dew had evaporated. Sheriff Bernard made his way into town, accompanied by none other than the eldest Gagne child, Jasper. They made a strange pair; Sheriff Bernard’s pale skin, ginger beard, and tall stature made Jasper look almost brown and childish in comparison, his coat hung faded and sunbleached upon his slumped shoulders, and his cap sagged upon his dark hair as he shuffled alongside the sheriff, adjusting his pace awkwardly to match his companion.  
The townsfolk began to gather as they made their way to the square, all murmuring and whispering to each other curiously, but keeping a fearful distance from the two men. Once they reached the square, Sheriff Bernard cleared his throat and set his hands upon his belt.

“Droomsberry citizens!” He began, almost as if commanding a battalion of soldiers to order. “As you know, the search for the little Gagne girl has interrupted your daily lives and filled you with nothing but compassion and worry,” the sheriff cleared his throat again, “Which I am sure the family are grateful for.” He turned and smiled warmly at the boy, patting his shoulder gently.  
“But the search is over! We have found the poor girl, whom you all over the past few days have seemed to cherish as your own!”

The crowd gasped and began to rejoice, and some began to rush forward to shake the sheriff’s hand, but the large man silenced them once again.

“Unfortunately…” he began, now removing his own cap. “We came too late, by the time the men and I found her, she had been...killed...by wolves.”

The small pause before uttering the word “killed” could be seen as pity or compassion by the more ignorant townspeople, but the elders knew its true purpose. It was to shield from the people the truly horrific manner in which they had found poor little Irene Gagne.  
The girl was found mauled almost beyond recognition--her face had been shredded, her arm dislocated, and her torso partially eaten. The only recognizable thing was the tattered remains of the dress she had been wearing at the time of her departure, and the only miracle was that dawn had not yet broken when they uncovered this. Sheriff Bernard was glad that Jasper had protected his sister from this site when they called him over, but he wished that Jasper did not have to see it--the poor boy went pale, his hazel eyes seeming to bug out before he vomited on the grass before weeping bitterly, the other officers covering the girl’s face with a white sheet. The Sheriff patted the grieving man’s back, almost moved to tears himself, as the sister watched hiccoughing like some miserable child, her shawl clutched tightly to her chest as the search party helped carry the dead girl away.

When Jasper had offered to go to town with him, Sheriff Bernard almost refused, but there was something in Jasper’s eyes that made him hesitate. His usual warm and dull eyes seemed to pierce him, but not with emotion, rather a sharpness of determination that heeded not his emotional turmoil. He even readied the wagon himself before they climbed on, though even when his knuckles shook when holding the reins, Sheriff Bernard silently applauded the boy for his courage.  
Now, as the town seemed to swarm upon them like ants to a cube of sugar. Jasper did not falter, though he did not answer any questions and only thanked the askers for their concern; he straightened himself, and shook the hands of everyone who came up to him. Sheriff Bernard however, still hovered over him like a vulture, though the boy was much shorter than himself, he made sure to dismiss any inappropriate questions asked. While smiling and thanking those who expressed their gratitude for helping the miserable family, and was especially flattered by Monsieur Legrand, who expressed his deepest sympathies while shaking his hand vigorously.

“I can’t imagine how awful it must be for them,” he said, “and I can only pity their poor father--the man must be devastated.”  
The Sheriff sighed once more, the old man did not speak at the news that his youngest daughter was dead, he just sat in his chair seemingly dumbfounded. Not even speaking when the sister offered him tea, just taking it from her silently and staring at the cup with a void look on his aged face.

“They’re a strong bunch,” the Sheriff reassured, “I’m sure they will make it through.”

Monsieur Legrand scratched his beard, a gesture most were used to by now, and sighed. “My offer for the farm still stands, I hope you will tell them that,” he finally said, almost casually.

“I’m sure they know it.” the Sheriff said, before patting him on the shoulder.


	3. Funeral

The funeral was held a few days after the discovery, and ironically, it was sparse of company, the gravediggers making up more than half the people there. Irene had been beautified by the mortician, her cheeks now flush and red with false life, the once unruly hair woven into braids, and her smaller frame clad in a white frock. During the funeral Mass, Jasper couldn’t help but notice how cobbled and false she looked; resembling some strange mended doll, not the lawless wild-child he had known just a week prior. 

“I wish they would let us put wildflowers in her hair… she loved to pick them,” Mélanie sighed as they gazed in their sister’s casket. “It seems only fair.”

Jasper didn’t respond, though his eyes brimmed with tears, and his shoulders slumped. Mélanie put her arm around him, as if to steady his restless heart. Together they mourned their sister silently, Mélanie’s curls blowing about her dark face. 

One of the few who came to the funeral was Sheriff Bernard. He was the one who made sure Irene’s body looked presentable for the funeral, since Jasper and Mélanie’s father insisted upon an open casket. The sheriff was hesitant at the idea, remarking at how she will look more like a ‘patchwork doll’ than his daughter, but the old man only pressed the idea further, his faded eyes fiery and determined, a look his son had inherited. Still, they were glad he was here, it made them feel less alone. 

The sheriff stood once brother and sister entered the house, his seat wobbling dangerously from his sudden reaction. It was now late afternoon and clouds began to block the sun’s rays with the promise of rain. Jasper felt drained, his body heavy and fatigued, his feet like weights pulling him to the floor. Mélanie’s strong arm around him felt as though it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

“No, no, please,” she said, “you should be going anyway.” 

The sheriff fidgeted uncomfortably, a blush creeping upon his pale cheeks. “Are you sure?” He asked. “I am more than happy to stay and help.”

Mélanie shook her head, avoiding his eyes as she guided Jasper to the table. “We can manage from here,” she reassured, straining a smile, “and it looks like rain.” 

Sheriff Bernard began to disagree, but he stopped himself. “As you wish,” he said, grabbing his cap. 

Mélanie sat Jasper down at the table then accompanied the sheriff to the door. “Just know that if you need anything, you only have to ask,” he continued as the young woman helped him into his coat.

The woman nodded, her smile a bit warmer as it spread across her face. “Thank you again, sheriff,” she said, opening the door for him. 

Sheriff Bernard tipped his hat before stepping out into the darkening weather, his coat blowing about him with almost a violent force while Mélanie, with rosy cheeks, watched him leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foreshadowing my dear Watson :)


	4. Farm Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that I haven't posted! I'll see if I can get back into a groove, don't worry! things are coming soon.

It began the day after Irene was found, and continued almost daily up till the funeral. At first the Gagnes didn’t notice it, Achille had always disappeared and reappeared when he pleased, most cats did. But it became more of a problem when their dog began to bark incessantly at the old shed, teeth bared and growling. Beau was an older dog, almost 12 years old, come the winter, and so these aggressive episodes were seen and dealt with in the most gentle, but dismissive manner. The old shed in question was out of use, they would only use it sometimes in the winter to store their grain when the barn had been filled up. But with their mother’s death and their father unable to work, they no longer had such a large harvest anymore. 

Beau and Achille went on in this manner even after the funeral, and it began to worry the Gagne’s, they had joked that the animals were only recognizing the presence of their late sister, but now she had been put to rest and the barking did not stop. Achille was now not seen at his water bowl in the evening, and Beau was beginning to circle the old shed to the point where it became difficult to bring him to the house when the sun set. Even then he would remain restless, pacing about the house. Strangely, their father was the one to bring it up one evening, as they were all sat down for dinner. 

“Jasper,” he began, his faded eyes seemed to find his son’s. “Tomorrow I want you to go into that shed.” His voice was agitated, but gentle enough to not become frightened. 

“I don’t think that’s entirely necessary,” Jasper soothed him, “that shed has been locked since last winter-”

“That damned dog won’t stop barking at it,” his father interrupted. “I can hardly sleep from his whimpering and scratching.” The old man then rubbed his temple and sighed despairingly. “If you had any sense left in that thick skull of yours, you would’ve checked that shed long before I’d have to tell you.”

Mélanie couldn’t hide her smile, but it died quickly when she saw the discouraging expression upon her brother’s face.

“It was partially my fault too, father,” she said. “I didn’t mention it at all…”

“Don’t try and protect him,” their father retorted harshly. “Just because you're partially to blame doesn’t excuse that it is  _ his _ responsibility.” 

Jasper sighed and nodded. “I’ll do it after I feed the chickens tomorrow.” 

“There’s a good boy,” The old man said, his tone gentle and warm again. ”I’ll give you the keys, and take the rifle with you.” 

Jasper was a little alarmed at his father’s last demand, the boy hadn’t touched that rifle since Irene’s search, and even then it was not on his own property. But he didn’t want to talk back to him again, lest he actually became enraged. It still puzzled him though--the man who had always welcomed strangers into their home, now insisting almost casually to draw arms on his own property. Jasper had trouble grasping the concept. 

Mélanie seemed surprised too, and laid her fork down on her plate. 

“Do you think that is quite necessary?” She asked bravely. 

Their father cleared his throat, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“Yes I do,” he said firmly. 

Though she saw him exhale shakily. Mélanie did not question further, and returned quietly to her meal. 


	5. The Shed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's finally back with another chapter! That's right! I am determined to keep writing this now, and I mean it this time!

The modest breakfast of jammed toast and coffee sat restlessly in Jasper’s stomach as he slipped on his boots. They seemed tighter for some reason, and it took some determined wrenching of the leather to finally slip his ankle inside. He felt dizzy as he grabbed the rifle hanging by the door, his entire body rejecting the sensation of it in his hands. He had held this rifle when they had found Irene; it was contaminated with the memory of her mutilated corpse. He wanted so badly to break it, to purge the Earth of the filth it gathered. It had sat collecting dust in their father’s closet for years and years, and now here it leaned, jeering at him. 

The sky was beginning to brighten as Jasper walked to the barn, his knuckles white and trembling as he held the firearm. The morning brought no peace to his troubled mind, the wind blowing right through his coat, chilling him as if he were naked. He was dreadfully aware of the silence that permeated the frost covered fields. He wished hopelessly for a bird to sing, or a crow to squak, anything to keep his mind from dwelling hopelessly upon the past. 

The twilight before dawn was always silent, as if the birds held their choruses until the night had been banished. Even the crickets halted their chirps, and began to disperse as the stars began to fade. The old barn sat solid and warm upon the earth, the grey walls of stone holding fast to each other. As the animals inside slowly began to awaken from their peaceful slumber. 

Beau was laying sleepily by the barn, his sphinxian head resting upon his front paws, while his stallion-like legs lay folded to the side of his long torso. The large dog rose his head when the boy neared, his ears and head tilting up to attention as if to say _I’m here! I’m here! What do you need!_

Jasper rejoiced when he saw Beau, and for a few moments his anxieties were stifled by the sight of his wagging tongue. He went over to the dog, not wondering how he had escaped the house, and not for a moment recognizing that his collar was missing. He simply jogged over to pet and scratch the head of his beloved companion. His strength began to return as he embraced Beau, and the world seemed to slow down to a more comfortable pace around him. The dog wagged his tail happily at this, absolutely delighted at the sight of his owner's smiles. 

The sky was beginning to redden when Jasper had finished his morning duties, Beau trotting contently by his side. He even waited patiently outside the coop as Jasper went inside to gather eggs and feed the chickens. His lantern poised in front of his face with one hand, a basket in his other as he completed the careful chore of lifting up the hens and removing the eggs they sat on. Instinctively, he counted them, sighing despairingly when the number had dwindled from yesterday. That was another problem that had arisen since the Funeral, and since then almost a dozen eggs had gone missing, as well as 2 chickens themselves. Jasper had suspected Achille behind it, though the cat had never gone near the pen.

When he had delivered the eggs to Mélanie, and was now tying Beau to a post, Jasper turned his gaze to the back of the house. There he could catch a glimpse of the crumbling wooden shed, grass and vines crawling up it’s walls as if to drag it down into the dirt. Beau had already begun to growl when they came to the house, and Jasper once again felt that sick feeling begin to eat away at him. For a terrifying moment he pictured Irene lying inside that shed, mangled beyond human salvation. It was almost enough to make him ill, almost enough to make him run inside and hide away in his bed, never to come out. 

But before he could do so, he checked himself, scolding his mind for such childish notions. “Good lord,” he said aloud, “all this trouble over an old shed?”

The comment was directed towards Beau, but it’s purpose was for himself. It seemed to steady his feet, and he began to walk casually towards the structure, Beau tugging at the rope he was bound to. 

Jasper fidgeted with the keys his father left him, struggling to remember which one belonged to the shed’s old door. He didn’t quite understand _why_ his father kept the shed locked; the wood was so rotten now that a child could break through it. It was as if the old man was afraid of something, that some evil spirit would descend upon the house if they did not lock their doors and windows every night. 

At this notion, Jasper decided to check the door, to gauge whether he could just break through it and be over with. Setting down the lantern he set his hands upon the old wood, and with little pressure, the door creaked open. 

Jasper had hardly any time to process the first action when the smell filled his nostrils. The air reeked of decay, even from the entrance Jasper felt himself almost gag. Grabbing the lantern from the ground he forced himself to open the door further, the hot air violating his senses as it flowed out from deep within the shed. He compelled his teary eyes to focus, the pungent smell of blood now mingling with the stench of the rest, he held the lantern far in front of him daring not to go in further for fear he would faint. 

In the darkness he could make out something, it seemed to slink along the adjacent wall. It’s eyes glowing from the light that shone at it, it mewed softly as if to ask who was there. 

“Achille…?” Jasper managed to ask, his stomach turning dangerously when he opened his mouth. The creature stopped at the mention of the name, and Jasper squinted to analyze it’s features. It was indeed a small mammal, its long tail swishing lazily in the air. It meowed once again, and Jasper relaxed slightly at the familiar sound of his cat. 

Achille then turned his back to Jasper, tail now unmoving as he retreated in the far corner. Jasper followed his receding form with his lantern, beginning to step inside the putrid room. 

“So it’s been you all this time…” Jasper sighed, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “I should have known, of course Beau would be so agitated.” 

As he spoke, a large hand emerged from the darkness, the cat barely even stirring as it began to pet the orange fur. 


End file.
